In the Subway

6:30am Monday morning, Paris. Metro gently fills with stern-faced commuters in colorless suits. Three disheveled chaps fall into the subway car. They reek of smoke and alcohol. None of the suits seem pleased at their arrival.

Chaps begin to sing a simple drinking song about Marie the Whore. Cautiously at first, then callously. The suits raise their eyebrows.

Two minutes pass, the chaps grow louder. Suits share a moment of disdain. The chaps separate, locking eyes and smiling mid-lyric at the suits. A suit pipes in timidly, then loudly. Everyone joins.

They forget class and etiquette. They remember youth, freedom, humanity.